


A kiss

by CrazyChicken



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyChicken/pseuds/CrazyChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a drunk kiss. How much could it be worth?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at Tumblr by me in December '12. Unbeta'd.

Mario couldn’t quite recall the trip back to hotel. All he remembered was a victory party and way too much alcohol for one team, and then stumbling over his own feet as they entered their room.

“I’m so wasted!” he said for the thousandth time that hour and Marco just laughed at him, as he pulled his friend up.

“I know.”

“You,” Mario started to say as he lay his hand on Marco’s shoulder and try to look him straight in the eye. “You are smart. You always just… know stuff.”

His gaze went off again and he looked around the suite as if the saw it for the first time. When he tried to step forward again, he almost fell and Marco had to catch him again. The latter mumbled something, but Mario was too distracted by his hair, that was too blonde for this world and his face – that fucking face – that was just way too beautiful.

When their lips met in the middle, it tasted like a mix of drinks that didn’t go well together. When Marco realised what was happening, he was quick to pull back, letting Mario fall on the ground. Soon enough, he picked him up again, saying: “You’re way too drunk for this.”

“I can do everything at the same time,” Mario said, his hands searching for grip on Marco’s body.

“But you shouldn’t,” was Marco’s answer. His face was red, from anger and shame and lust and confusion all at the same time. “You should go to bed.”

Mario pouted, trying to walk towards his friend. “Will you tuck me in?”

Marco sighed. Mario was annoying when he was drunk. Shameless, crazy and annoying and Marco had gone through all of it. He had carried his friend home quite a few times, had cleaned his vomit, had dragged him to bed, had just been there. Sometimes he felt like he was the one who always had to take care of Mario, but he knew that wasn’t true. The moment Mario sobered up, the roles switched and Mario was the one who took care of Marco and made them coffee.

Maybe that was their tradition. Kissing, however, had never been part of that. It didn’t change anything about the fact that Marco had to get Mario to sleep; any more of this reckless behaviour of him could kill both of them.

It was a great struggle with Mario’s weight and his incoherent mumbling, but eventually he was in bed and sort of falling asleep. That is, he didn’t protest against the sleep anymore. Marco lay down on the bed on the other side of the room, but he couldn’t fall asleep. He stared at Mario’s closed eye lids and watched his breath change its rhythm and he saw the way the blankets were wrapped around his body.

He had been there all along. He had fallen so many times and he had lost himself in things and people and none of it was supposed to happen. Everytime again he could feel society look at him with angry eyes, even when no one was around. But this time around it was different. Mario wasn’t a girl or a sport and it was supposed to feel even so much worse than all the other times, yet it didn’t. Instead, it felt incredibly right.

 

Mario was the first to wake up the next morning, headache present and memories slowly coming back to him. He sighed and face palmed and tried to make up other stories for last night, in order to comfort himself. Stories that didn’t involve him dancing on a bar or kissing Marco, but the truth kept coming back to him.

He decided to get up and shower the thoughts away. The heat of the water felt good on his back, but it only made his head pound worse. After the shower he couldn’t see his face in the fogged up mirror, but he reckoned he must have looked as terrible as he felt.

When he figured Marco was still asleep, he made a cup of a coffee. He didn’t know what his body would do with caffeine before breakfast, but he couldn’t care for food at that moment. The silence made his ears ring as he sat on the couch and silently sipped down his coffee. He didn’t want to turn on the TV: not only because he was afraid to wake Marco, but also because his head wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Eventually he got up to make some breakfast. That was when Marco came in, saying: “Hey.”

Mario looked up from the kitchen counter and replied with a simple “hey” before turning back to the food. He felt the heat on his cheeks and wished Marco didn’t see it.

“Listen, I hope....” Marco started saying as he walked towards Mario, who stopped him.

“You smell like party. Smoke and alcohol. Take a shower.” He didn’t even look up from his sandwich.

“Really?” Marco said, but he wasn’t too surprised. Mario hated it when thing – or persons, for that matter – didn’t smell the way he liked. He knew him well enough, so he didn’t even bother to protest. To do him a favour, he used Mario’s own shower gel.

 

Breakfast was waiting for him when he came back in the living room. The table was made for two and Mario was sitting on one of the chairs, smiling.

“You made us breakfast?” Marco asked as he looked at his friend in great surprise. He thought he knew Mario well enough by now, but he had never seen him make breakfast for someone else than himself.

His grin was proud and happy and part of Marco just wanted to go over and hug him. The other part of him just sat down on the other stair and took a bite of toast. Honestly, it tasted horrible. You would think that a grown up man could at least roast some toast without screwing it up, but apparently, Mario couldn’t. It was burnt and even though it was obvious he had tried to scrape off the black parts, it tasted awful. Yet Marco pretended he loved the taste of it, because he loved to think that it made Mario happy.

They small talked during breakfast and stole glances but never really looked at each other. When they were both full and satisfied they cleaned the table and it was when Marco threw the dished in the sink that they finally looked at each other the way they used to.

“We need to talk about yesterday,” Marco said.

“No, we don’t,” answered Mario with a smile that hid his shame. He tried to walk away, but Marco grabbed his arm.

“Yes, we do,” he said and for a moment the world stopped moving when Marco looked Mario in the eyes and his looked screamed all the things he could never say and Mario could do nothing but agree.

“You were damn drunk when you kissed me, agree?”

Mario nodded. “And I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just... we best forget about it, agree?”

Mario nodded. It was becoming a pattern – Marco asking him if he agreed and Mario nodding – which Mario then broke by adding: “No. No I don’t agree.” He looked up with sudden fury. “I don’t know about you, but even if I was drunk as hell and didn’t really think about what I was doing, I cannot forget what happened. I may one day put it aside and let it go and live on, but I will never forget it. And I hope you don’t either.”

Mario went for ‘walking away dramatically’, but ended up stumbling over the carpet. His knees hurt, but not as much as the shame did. But the thing was, he didn’t hear Marco laugh. He heard Marco come closer and he checked if Mario was okay and he looked really anxious. And then when he knew Mario was okay, everything was okay and they both forgot about how dramatic Mario had tried to be.

“I think we should do it again,” Marco whispered breathlessly. His eyes were afraid, but focussed. “Sober, in daylight.”

Mario frowned. “Do what?”

Marco bit his lip. “Kiss.”

Mario thought about that for one second, but the word had no ambiguous meaning. A kiss is a kiss. He leaned in and didn’t hesitate before their lips touched, a lot softer and more careful than the first time around. Their lips tasted like tea and were still wet. It wasn’t much – no licking, no sucking, no nothing. Just a pair of lips meeting another pair of lips.

“Well?” asked Marco, shyly looking down at Mario, who grinned.

“Well what?”

“Was it good enough for a third time?”

Mario cocked his head, pretending to think that over. “Hm, yeah. I guess it’s good enough for another million times.”

And the fourth time and the fifth time were just as good – if not better. Mario got lovedrunk and didn’t remember how their bodies had shifted into this position, but his back was on the carpet and it was starting to ache, but there was no way in hell he was going to stop this because of some silly little pain.

 

And it just went from there. Their goals were still awesome and their celebrations were still great and nobody could come in between, but it was different now. When they were alone, they kissed. They went on proper dates and had proper nights without sleep. It seemed everything had become so much better since then, because of one simple kiss and they both couldn’t imagine that, because a kiss was just a kiss after all.

Some kisses change lives, it turned out. And Mario and Marco couldn’t imagine how it had been before that one single kiss.


End file.
